


The Ascendant's Field

by Wyndle (mollymauks)



Category: Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, Wax and Wayne Series - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: (just a smidge), Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, First Time, Hair Pulling, He likes to please, In the form of orgasms, NSFW, Smut, Steris deserves the world and Wax gives it to her, Steris is autistic, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wax is a gentleman dammit, Wax is a service everything, Wedding Night Smut, and it's not a focus of this fic but it's definitely there in small moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymauks/pseuds/Wyndle
Summary: Wax and Steris got married at the end of the Bands of Mourning and then they boned. And Brandon Sanderson deprived us of this moment. So I made up for his lack. I made up for it in nearly nine thousand words. Please enjoy. NSFW, Steris POV, enthusiastic consent, Wax likes to please.Teaser: 'He should not be prostrating himself before her like a man before an altar.And yet...There was something deeper, something more instinctual, something that flared to life in her stomach. It was what she imagined burning a metal might feel like, were she able to do it. It told her that this was right.She looked down into his eyes, burning like the fire inside her, and she knew: this was where he belonged.Harmony had made him to serve. And tonight he served her.'
Relationships: Steris Harms/Waxillium "Wax" Ladrian
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	The Ascendant's Field

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long time coming. Innuendo intended.

Married. She was _married_. At last. After so long. So many years, so many engagements to so many young men that her father had set up in the hopes of finding her a good match. So many rejections, with so many different phrasings of the same sentiment: that Steris was too strange, too cold, too unloveable to ever be bound to.

She was married.

Married to Waxillium Ladrian. Dawnshot. The man from all of Marasi’s stories.

She looked up at him and smiled, and he grinned back at her like a fool.

No, she realised. Not the man from Marasi’s stories. That man had been a legend, a myth. His achievements were undeniable, but the lore that had grown up around him, that was not right.

This man was real. He was solid, and stable, a more genuine person than any she’d met. A better man than any she’d dreamed still existed in the world.

And he was hers. Her husband.

The thought made her giddy.

Waxillium smiled down at her, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. Such a soft, intimate gesture. His calluses were rough, his skin worn, but he was always so gentle with her.

He kissed her tenderly, and she melted into him. Then broke off abruptly as he scooped her into his arms. He carried her into the bedroom and she felt herself shiver.

Of course she had known what would follow their wedding but, well, she hadn’t expected it to follow quite so quickly.

Instead of making a beeline for the huge bed in the centre of the chamber, however, Waxillium stepped away from it instead, and she frowned.

“Where are you going?” she asked him, bemused, “Shouldn’t we be heading to bed?” she added, with a slight blush.

Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe he didn’t want her after all. Not like that, at least. She was Steris. Perhaps he could find her a good wife, a good partner. But alluring? Enticing? Maybe he-

“Steris, do you trust me?” he asked, voice low, interrupting her meandering thoughts.

She frowned up at him. “Yes, of course I do. You shouldn’t ask questions that you already know the answer to, Lord Waxillium, it makes you look like a fool. And I know for a fact that you are not a-”

She broke off in a slight yelp as Wax launched them from the room, out through the open balcony door, and high up into the mists without so much as a flicker of warning.

When she had managed to compose herself enough to look up at him again she found that he was grinning as he Pushed them through the air.

“Really,” she said, trying to straighten her hat with disapproval, “Was that necessary?”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, still smirking, “It was fun, though.”

“Some day soon we are going to have to have a serious talk about your sense of drama, Lord Waxillium,” she sniffed delicately.

“Sense of drama?” he repeated. Then he frowned, and managed to look truly affronted as he said, “I’m not dramatic.”

Steris snorted. Wax blinked down at her looking rather like a baffled puppy. Albeit a very rugged, handsome one.

“Dear,” she said, fondly, “Saying that you aren’t dramatic is a little like Marasi claiming she isn’t really interested in criminal justice. Or like Wayne saying that he doesn’t much like hats.”

“I’m not that bad,” Waxillium mumbled, though he did look a little sheepish.

Steris rested her head comfortably against his chest and snuggled into him, saying, “I shall forgive you on this occasion as this was such a pleasant surprise.”

That made him smile again, and he kissed her gently on the top of her head as he Pushed them in a rough loop over the tops of the city, the lights beneath them glittering like stars.

Biting her lip, she peered up at him and said, “Waxillium?”

“Mm?”

“Could you show them to me again?” she breathed, “The stars. Above the mists, I mean.”

His smile deepened further, and he circled back to where they had started, and used the tall tower-like building they had been married in to launch them higher and higher into the sky, balancing upon his anchor as they burst through the mists and she saw the true sky beyond them.

Wonder flooded her once more, as it had the first time he had taken her up here. She didn’t think she would ever lose that, didn’t think she could ever feel ‘used’ to this view. Even if Waxillium took her up here every day.

After a long moment, Steris realised that Waxillium wasn’t watching the stars above. His eyes were on her. And there was such...Such tenderness in his expression, such joy in his eyes as he beheld her face in that moment, that she was struck by a sudden realisation.

It tumbled from her mouth before she could stop it.

“You’re truly in love with me, aren’t you?” she breathed, something like awe filling her chest.

Waxillium stared at her, baffled, “Of course I am,” he said, incredulous, as though she had just expressed surprise that one plus one made two. “Rusts, I just asked you to marry me, Steris!” he said, “I _did_ marry you.”

“Well, yes,” she said, flustered, “But I thought-”

“If you mention the word ‘politics’ I’ll-” he began with a growl.

“No, no!” she said, “But, well-” How was she supposed to explain this to him? “I knew of course that you liked me, that you might even feel fond of me, and that you enjoyed my company. Enough that you wanted to marry me for reasons beyond what our original contract stipulated but...Love, Waxillium? I never thought you would truly _love_ me.”

“Why not?” he said, still looking completely confused.

His brow wrinkled as though she had suggested something entirely nonsensical. It was just so...So genuine. So real. He was truly, deeply baffled by the idea that she had never considered he could actually fall in love with her.

Steris found herself blushing at his incredulity, suddenly feeling foolish.

“All the things you consider. All the lists you made, planning for everything, from explosions to a _cattle stampede_ in the lobby of our hotel,” she blushed again, “But you never thought it a possibility I might really love you?”

“I, well, I-”

“I’m sorry, Steris,” he said, quiet, his voice obviously remorseful.

“You?” she said, taken aback, “What on earth have you to be sorry for, Waxillium? The fault was mine.”

“No,” he said, firmly, “No, if you didn’t know that I loved you, if you couldn’t tell that I did, then I’ve been an even bigger fool than I thought by not making it clear to you.”

She opened her mouth in shock, but couldn’t find anything to say.

Wax looked down at her, with those honest eyes, and breathed, “I love you, Steris. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time. Since I first carried you up here, into the ascendant’s field, and saw how you looked at it. All of that awe, and wonder, at how something so wonderful could truly exist. I realised then that I felt the same way about you.”

Her face crumpled with emotion and she grabbed his face in her hands and pulled him down to kiss her. He wobbled slightly, still holding them aloft precariously, but they did not slip into the mists this time. He held her, strong and steady against him, and when she drew away from him, she saw the stars reflected in his eyes.

“So,” Steris said, a little breathless, “Does this mean that you do want to...To consummate our marriage?”

“I won’t lie, Steris,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl as he did so, “I would be disappointed if we didn’t.”

She shivered, heat twisting in her stomach, “Then perhaps you should take us back to our bed chamber, Lord Waxillium,” she breathed.

****

They landed lightly on the penthouse balcony, and Waxillium set her down carefully, before taking her hand and walking them inside.

They moved to the bed, and he dipped down to kiss her again, a far more passionate kiss than she’d yet experienced from him, and one that left her breathless.

“Steris,” he murmured, drawing away from her with obvious reluctance, “What I said, about being disappointed if this doesn’t happen...Please don’t think I’m pressuring you into this. If you’re tired, or not ready, we can wait. It’s alright. I want this. I want you. But I want it to be done right, when we’re both ready.” he gently squeezed her hand, giving her a soft smile, clearly thinking that she wasn’t ready.

In response, she started pointedly unfastening her corset.

Waxillium watched her until she had undone it completely. A moment before she let it drop to the floor, he caught it, and folded it carefully for her. Then he moved in and started to help her remove her dress.

They worked in tandem, her fingers clumsy with nerves but swift and eager. His were deft and sure, a comforting stability.

She realised she had expected to feel exposed, standing before a man in nothing but her thin shift. Instead she felt seen, and wanted, as Waxillium's eyes catalogued the curves of her body with his characteristic intensity.

Steris blinked as Wax went down on his knees in front of her. Her sense of propriety told her that this was not right. He was the lord of a great house. He was her husband. A good wife served her lord’s house, and her lord’s wishes. He was also a respected lawman. He had saved her life, he had saved countless lives, he should not be prostrating himself before her like a man before an altar.

And yet...There was something deeper, something more instinctual, something that flared to life in her stomach. It was what she imagined burning a metal might feel like, were she able to do it. It told her that this was right.

She looked down into his eyes, burning like the fire inside her, and she knew: this was where he belonged.

Harmony had made him to serve. And tonight he served her.

She gave herself a little shake. Survivor, who did she think she was? She banished the unconscious impulse and forced herself, consciously, to remember why they were here, and what the purpose of this was. Her studies had explained it very precisely. She liked to be precise, she-

Wax started picking at the laces on the boots that she wore. Practical, comfortable, but also in keeping with the current fashions. His fingers were deft and sure. As well they might be. She watched, transfixed, as he slid it free, then moved to the second.

Her stockings followed, peeled down her legs with agonising slowness. Waxillium could be an impatient man, impulsive even. But he knew how to take his time and savour the moment when it wanted savouring. And it was clear he was savouring every second of this.

Wax paused after removing both of her stockings. She noted, with fondness, that he had taken care to set them beside her shoes, perfectly aligned, and that he’d folded them neatly. The moment he took to remember it after each one made it clear that the action was intentional, and the soft smile he gave her made it clear that it was for her benefit.

He placed his hands on her legs, just below her knees, fingers dipping beneath the hemline, then waited, eyes on her.

Waxillium Ladrian was a gentleman. Oh he protested otherwise. He insisted he was a man battered and hardened by his life in the Roughs, and the hardships he had endured since.

Partially that was true. He could be violent, swift, and brutal with his judgements of those who had committed wrongs. But there was also an aching gentleness to this man. It was in the way he looked at her sometimes. In the way he had pushed them high above the mists just to behold her joy. And in the neatly folded stockings at his side.

She had not imagined that from him.

When they had been engaged she had done her research on him, naturally. He was a killer. A brutal lawman from the Roughs who had taken lives and pursued criminals. A part of her had feared to be married to such a man.

Then he had saved her. He had come for her, a woman he hardly knew. He had shielded her, and protected her, and all those around him. He tried so hard to do good. Guns were the method by which he achieved that. But the intention remained pure. Even after twenty years in a lawless world, it had not ruined him.

“May I?” he asked.

There was a slight twinkle in his eye, which very much implied that he wanted to. Yet she knew that if she uttered a single word, this night would end here, without fuss, or complaint, and they would retire as she wished it.

It gave her an odd, heady sense of power. A man so powerful, so renowned, a man chosen by god himself to walk this land and bring justice to those who wronged it...She had complete control over this moment between them.

She nodded to him, throat too tight for speech, eyes feasting on his face. His hands slid beneath her slip, pushing the hem higher and higher, inch by inch, revealing more and more skin.

Steris knew what he wanted, of course. All of her books had spoken of it. A man’s lust was a natural thing, and as a wife it was her duty to tend to it. He had been kind, patient, far more so than society dictated he be. She was grateful for that, so grateful. But of course, he had a single goal in mind, and, as with everything in his life, he pursued it with single-minded determination.

He pushed the slip right up over her hips, revealing the underwear she wore beneath.

She blushed slightly. It was not at all what the magazines and fashion houses of Elendel recommended a wife greet her husband with on their first night of marriage.

She had not planned for this to be her first night of marriage, however. She had planned for it to be another day of travel and adventure alongside Waxillium Dawnshot. And so the garment was not lacy and alluring, but practical and utilitarian.

Wax still looked at her as though she was the most divine temptation that had ever been set before him. As though she was the only thing in the world. Practical underwear and all.

That made her blush further.

He looked up at her again, fingers splayed on her thighs. His palms burned.

“If this is too much, we can stop right now,” he said, his deep voice gentle, “Just say the word.”

“No,” she whispered. It came out in a hoarse rasp. Steris cleared her throat and added, with more composure, “No, I am ready, Lord Waxillium,” he cocked an eyebrow at her, seeming concerned.

She smiled to him. A genuine smile, for she had no other kind.

She touched his face gently, cupping his cheek in her hand, and added, “More than ready.”

And she was. Rust and Ruin but she was. She had spent so long anticipating this moment. So much time reading, and researching, and imagining it.

Part of her readiness was the feeling of anticipation finally coming to a head. It had been so long, winding her tighter and tighter like a screw that was now tearing into the wood beneath it and chewing it up. She just wanted, _needed_ , it to happen at last.

The other part was him.

She would have felt the need to have her anticipation finally put to bed by any man. But the warmth and safety she felt, the pleasure that it would be with him...That was all Waxillium.

He smiled again, and pressed a soft, tender kiss to the inside of her thigh, before easing her underwear down to her toes, then pulling them away entirely, and folding them beside her stockings and shoes. Bless him.

Steris closed her eyes and reclined back onto the pillows arranged beneath her head.

She waited for the creak of bed springs, the depression of the mattress as Waxillium joined her on the bed, moved over her, prepared himself. She trembled, fingers fisting in the sheets at her sides, feeling as though she might burst as expectation pooled inside her.

Instead of him climbing up on top of her, she felt Waxillium gently nudge her legs apart, without seeming to get up from the floor.

Well, some men liked that sort of thing, she had read. Perhaps he would simply remain standing throughout. She wasn’t sure what she thought of that.

She wasn't given long to consider it.

A moment later, she felt a huff of hot breath between her thighs and gasped softly in surprise.

She pushed herself up on her elbows enough to see that Wax hadn’t moved away now that he had bared her. Nor had he removed any of his clothes. Not even simply enough to remove what needed to be removed so to speak.

He was moving closer to her, between her legs, his head tilting, his hair brushing the insides of her thighs.

She yelped.

It was entirely undignified and utterly inappropriate to the situation, but she couldn't help it.

She was supposed to be sexy and enticing. She’d never felt either of those things in her life, but she had tried. Survivor help her but she had.

This was just so...So entirely unexpected. She couldn’t fathom what he thought he was doing down there.

“Steris?” Wax sat back a little, frowning, that line between his brows creasing in the way it always did when he was worried. “Is something wrong?”

“I, well-”

He was so much more experienced than her that she felt herself blushing. How was she supposed to explain this to him? She hadn't planned for it. Rusts, why would she have done such a thing? He was supposed to already know what he was doing.

Her breath huffed out, and before she quite knew it, the words were tumbling out of her mouth, “This is not proceeding as the books advised me that it should.”

Wow. That had been- Well. She usually took far more care with her words to avoid things like this. Waxillium made her far too lax.

Her blush deepened to what she was quite sure was a blazing scarlet, judging by the heat that was flooding her cheeks.

While she wasn’t certain what it was to be ‘sexy and alluring’ she was quite sure that pointing out to her husband in the middle of sex that he was not doing it correctly, as indicated by her studies on human reproduction, was not the right way to go about it.

Wax, instead of being offended, laughed softly. But he did it in a way that made her feel better. He did not seem patronising when he did it, as others had when she'd failed to grasp the meaning of a situation. He seemed...Fond.

“Oh?” he said, fingers gently caressing her thighs as he spoke, “And what should I be doing then?”

“Well, you should have decidedly less clothing in the way for a start,” she replied, blunt but honest.

She had come this far, may as well commit to it now.

He smiled again, but there was an edge to it this time, something hungry, burning, and almost sly.

“The thing is, Steris, your books...They talk about biology. Anatomy. Reproduction. The _mechanics_.”

“Well, yes, that is their purpose,” she said, frowning slightly.

The calluses on his fingers felt especially rough as he drew them over the soft skin of her inner thighs and she shivered. He raised his head slowly, his eyes hooded, a faint smile on his lips, parted ever so slightly.

_Survivor preserve me._

“There’s a lot more to sex than basic reproduction, Steris,” he murmured.

“Oh?” she croaked. She might have been embarrassed at how her voice rasped. But, Survivor, the way he was looking at her in that moment could have reduced even Kelsier himself to a blithering mess, she was quite certain.

“It’s about intimacy,” he said quietly. “It’s about a closeness to your partner. It’s about focusing everything you have, everything you are, on them. It’s about making a moment where the rest of the world stops existing, and it’s just you, and them, and skin, and heat, and sweat. It’s about feeling,” he breathed, his voice rough, his eyes burning like a lost metal.

A shiver of that same _feeling_ pulsed through her as she said that. He seemed to notice, and he seemed pleased. She might have frowned at that obvious display of egotistical behaviour but...Well, perhaps he was entitled to it.

If he could do that with just _words_...Survivor, what else could he do with that tongue? With those lips? With those callused, dextrous hands...

Oh _Harmony_.

“Would you like a demonstration?” he asked. There was definite smugness in his face, in his voice. But she couldn’t do anything but indulge in it.

“Please,” she whispered.

His smile widened and he leaned in, gently pushing her legs a little further apart, settling reverently between them. He dipped down, and the heat of his breath against her made her shake, fingers flexing in the sheets. Her stomach pulsed, and heat swelled, and she braced herself for the touch of his tongue against her, sure it would set her alight, and she would know what it was to be metalborn; she would know what it was to burn.

He paused, a breath from her skin, and pressed a kiss to her thigh, sucking gently, until she whimpered. Then he said quietly, “And for the avoidance of any doubt: I intend to be very thorough about this, Steris.”

She huffed softly, half-indignation and half-exasperation. She opened her mouth to tell him to save the drama for their theatre trips, if he would be so good, but then he put his mouth on her, and instead she _moaned_.

Heat flushed her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to produce such an indecent sound. She clapped a hand to her mouth a moment later, mortified. That feeling faded rapidly as he pressed his tongue to her a moment later, and she had to bite down on the fist she’d stuffed into her mouth to prevent the escape of further indecent sounds.

Preservation’s _tits_ how had he learned to do this so well?

Harmony had given them a plentiful land of bounty and wealth to compensate for the hardships of a thousand years of the world of ash. In this moment, she was certain he’d given Waxillium the ability to inspire this _feeling_ in her, too. It was the only thing that made sense.

Waxillium had been right. Her books had not explained the feelings that were involved with this process.

They had been sterile and scientific - as she’d wanted. She had not wanted flowery language or euphemisms so complex it was impossible to understand what they were trying to convey.

This had given her a good idea of what she was expected to do, and what he was expected to do in order for them to produce children.

It also meant she was _woefully_ unprepared for how much this was. She had no idea how her body was containing all of it, and she found herself whimpering again, but this time she didn’t care. She had to do something to relieve the pleasure that was pooling in her body.

Her fingers threaded unconsciously in his thick hair, nudging him away from her as she gasped his name, “Waxillium, please.”

He drew away, leaving her breathless, as though she’d just run for miles. This was, of course, ridiculous, as it had been all of a few minutes, and she’d been lying down for most of them. Yet her chest was heaving, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her skin.

“Do you need to stop?” he asked gently, stroking his hands up and down her calves in a tender, soothing way.

“Don’t even think about it,” she blurted out at once.

She blushed at the boldness of it. But it was true.

He smiled at that. Broadly. What an insufferable, wonderful man he was.

“I just-” she swallowed, then tried again, “I just need a moment to…to compose myself.”

“Take all the time you need,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her knee, a gentle, soothing thing. “There’s no rush. We have the rest of our lives.”

“I do not intend to spend the rest of my life in this bed, Waxillium,” she said, sniffily.

She thought of the mess the accountants might make of their ledgers if left unchecked and shivered.

He smirked at her in a way that seemed to say ‘we’ll see about that’.

Waxillium was a man of contradictions. A gentleman of the Roughs. A noble who loathed politics. A killer with a gentle heart.

At times he could seem so awkward, especially in social situations, fumbling through them without confidence.

But when he was in his element, when he was sure of himself, he couldn't hide that. And he committed to that certainty with everything that he had.

She gave him a little nudge and he smirked and dipped back between her legs, swiping his tongue through her folds.

Steris whimpered again, trembling. She tightened her fingers reflexively in his hair and he groaned against her.

"I'm sorry," Steris gasped, blushing again.

This wasn't proceeding at all as she'd planned. In her mind she had been composed, matter-of-fact, and direct about doing what needed to be done.

In none of her imaginations concerning this moment had she pictured herself pulling on his hair to demand that he focus his attention more firmly upon her pleasure.

Perhaps he would be affronted that she had done so, perhaps he would-

"Do that again," he rasped, voice thick with lust.

She trembled, and cautiously gave his hair another pull. He returned to her, lifting her legs over his shoulders, his hands sliding around her hips, gripping her tightly, drawing her harder against his mouth.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. She almost apologised again, but then he sucked at a spot between her thighs with a groan of pleasure and she gasped instead.

"Do that again" she breathed, mirroring his plea.

Wax obliged and she whimpered, thighs shaking and tightening around his head, but he didn't seem to mind. He didn't seem aware of anything but what he was doing to her with his lips, and teeth, and tongue.

 _Something_ was building inside her. An intense pressure, like a fire in her core fed from every blazing nerve in her body and she needed it to release it, she needed it to shatter through her, she needed it to wreck her. She needed _him_.

His hand slid under her shift, pushing it higher, seeking her breasts again. She sat up impatiently, pulling the shift over her head and dragging her hand up to where she wanted it.

"Waxillium," she cried, arching against him, "Waxillium please. Please. I need, I need-"

She didn't know. She didn't know how to articulate it. She didn't know what it was or what it would do to her, or how she could make it happen, she just _needed_ it.

Wax gently stroked her thighs, soothing.

"I know, love," he murmured. He looked up at her, mouth wet from her, and said, "I want to put my fingers inside you. Is that okay?"

A part of her brain thought, vaguely, that this sounded like a strange thing to want to do.

That part of her brain was not the one that answered.

"Yes," she gasped, barely aware of what she was agreeing to, just trusting him.

He knew what she needed, he thought this would help, and she would go to the ends of damnation itself if he said that would help her finish what they'd started.

"Yes. Please. Waxillium. _Waxillium_."

He gently eased a finger inside her. A part of her, belatedly, expected pain. She'd been warned about that. But she was so slick, and hot, and desperate that all she felt was the anticipation building inside her again.

Then he crooked the finger, brushing against a particular spot, and she bucked her hips against him, moaning his name, seeking more, unable to feel any shame at the gesture now.

Her body was moving based on instinct. Pure, base, starving instinct. And all it wanted was more.

Wax eased a second finger into her and she moaned again. She had never thought to feel this way. She had never thought it was even _possible_ to feel this way. But now that she did, she wanted to chase that feeling to see where it would take her.

She wanted more. She needed more. She _craved_ more. She didn’t know what it was, she just knew how badly her body longed for it, for him.

“Please,” she begged, hips writhing against his fingers as they moved in and out of her. “ _Please_."

She looked down and found his eyes on her, pupils blown wide with lust, his whole aspect consumed by her. That intensity made her tremble in his grip, but she did not shy from it. Not any longer. She knew this man now. She knew how he cared for her, and she knew that he would take care of her in this moment as he had in every other.

Waxillium did not disappoint. Looking as though he had rarely been forced to do something so difficult, he tore his gaze from hers.

Then he swept his tongue between her legs again and sucked on her again, in the way that had made her break for him before.

He moved his tongue in rhythm with his pumping fingers and she cried out, fingers clutching at his hair, at the sheets beneath her, then at his shoulders, desperately seeking some kind of anchor as he caused more feeling than she thought her body could ever contain through her with every deep movement.

Just a little more. Just a little more. _Just a little more._

“Please,” she gasped, her eyes squeezed tight, her hips rocking against his mouth, his fingers, seeking, desperate. “Please, please, please, _please_.”

She had never felt so blissfully, wonderfully out of control. Usually she had planned for every eventuality, planned for what she would say, what she would do, how she would act. She had nothing planned for this. She had no preparations at all.

In that moment all she could do was repeat that word, that plea, over and over again as Waxillium drove her closer and closer to that unknown thing she had been chasing since he had first tasted her.

Finally the release she had begged him for crashed through her.

Her mouth fell open, but she didn't make a sound as her back arched, her fingers clenched tight, and every muscle in her body tightened and spasmed.

It was so much all at once. And she relied on instinct once more as her body rocked against Waxillium, savouring this wonderful ecstasy flooding through her every vein and nerve for him.

Waxillium groaned at the feeling of her fingers tightening sharply in his hair and continued to work her through her pleasure.

At last she was forced to push him away with blind, fumbling fingers, the stimulation too much.

Her whole body was trembling. Her chest was heaving as she started to come back down and found herself a mess. Hair dishevelled, skin slick with sweat, sheets bunched and twisted all around her.

With shaking hands, she did the only thing that made sense in the moment. She pulled Waxillium insistently to his feet, then down onto the bed beside her, before crawling into his lap, fingers clutching at his lapels.

Then she pulled him down and kissed him, messy, and still shaking.

She realised, belatedly, that she could taste herself on his lips. It was not unpleasant, but from the way he had all but feasted upon her she could almost have believed she'd been slicked with his favourite brand of whiskey.

He ran his fingers up and down her back in a soothing way, cradling her to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, sounding concerned.

She forced herself to nod for him, though her body felt heavy, sluggish, and unresponsive, as though she was having to drag it through treacle to make it cooperate with her.

“Are you sure?” he urged her, still seeming so worried. Bless him, the silly man. “It wasn’t too much?”

She shook her head, and managed to whisper, “It was wonderful, Waxillium, I just-” She let out a soft, satisfied little huff of breath and mumbled, "I just need a moment."

"To compose yourself?" He supplied, eyes twinkling.

"Mm," she agreed, non-committal, eyes closed, Waxillium's hands welcome anchors on her thigh and her back.

That had been very nice. Very pleasant. She understood now why her books had told her that men lusted for sex so much, it-

Steris blinked, jolting back to awareness as she realised she had neglected his needs.

Nestled as she was in his lap, she could feel him pressing against her through the fabric of his trousers. Survivor! He hadn’t even removed his clothes yet.

“Waxillium, you haven’t-” she began, but he hushed her.

“It’s fine,” he said calmly, “It doesn’t matter.”

“I rather think that it does,” she said, insistent.

“Steris, your comfort is more important than me impregnating you on our first night together,” he sighed firmly, shaking his head.

Well he just didn’t understand at all. Ridiculous man.

She had begun their betrothal assuming that was how their first night would go. A sterile, disconnected thing, about biology and politics.

After what he had just done for her, the reproductive aspect of this night was the last thing on her mind. She intended to see him properly, thoroughly, rewarded for that. And for everything else.

She loved him. She loved him and she wanted to treat him as he deserved to be treated.

She leaned in and kissed him. She tried to make it a passionate kiss, tried to show him her desire for him.

Steris wanted to see him come apart. She wanted to hear him groan. She wanted to see what his pleasure looked like on his face. She wanted to know what he felt like inside her.

She shivered at that thought. She had never wanted that with anyone else before. She had never even considered it before.

“This is our wedding night, Waxillium Ladrian,” she breathed softly, “I have been planning it for a very long time. I did not plan for it to be so wonderful, however. But now that it has been I want to do things _properly_. I want that very much.”

Wax groaned again, and she smiled, feeling rather proud that she had managed to produce precisely the effect she had wanted.

She was still shaking, however, her body overstimulated and sensitive, and so she hesitated for just a moment.

“I do want it,” she said firmly, kissing him again to punctuate that point and muffle any potential protests about the lateness, or how tired she must be, “But, perhaps, perhaps we could take that moment first?” she suggested, feeling, foolishly, almost nervous.

He smiled, and wordlessly drew her down to the bed beside him. They lay facing one another, and Wax pulled her in, arm around her, holding her against his chest. She slid one of her legs between his, allowing her to press in more closely.

Waxillium looked at her, radiant. She had never seen a man look at her like that before. She had never seen anyone look at her like that before. She was Steris. She was boring. Stiff, upright, proper. Too cold. Too aloof. Too strange. Too sterile. She had a very long list of rejected suitors, none of whom had wanted anything to do with her after only a few meetings.

But Waxillium...Waxillium had stayed. He had stayed, and he had learned. He had taken the time to understand her. He had fallen for her, not in spite of her strange ways, nor even because of them. He had simply learned they were a part of who she was. And he had discovered that he loved that person as a whole.

A deep rush of fondness for this man flushed through her. He was battered, and scarred, and had been given every reason never to love again, and to stop trying to be a good man.

But he was. In spite of it all he was a good man. And he was hers. And so she smiled, and leaned in, and kissed him, grasping the front of his shirt and pulling him tight.

“I love you,” she said, blushing, as though she was a foolish teenager in a romance novel.

But he smiled, so warm, and so genuine, and breathed, “I love you, too, Steris.”

Then he kissed her nose. She blinked, startled, and he laughed, low, and full, and real.

He was real. When she looked at him, she saw him, not a lie he dressed up and pretended was him just him. Just Waxillium.

She knew when he laughed that it was genuine. When he spoke, he meant each word, and was not trying to hide something behind them she could never reach or comprehend.

So she kissed him again. And he kissed her back. He placed a hand behind her head, cradling her to him. And for some time they lay, entwined together, kissing each other, their embraces becoming more and more passionate as time went on, and she felt heat starting to pool in her core once again.

She shifted, and Wax groaned as her knee, still threaded between his legs, brushed against him.

He had been so patient for her. Custom dictated he could have demanded what he wanted from her at any time. But he would not do that. He would never do that. She was not a thing to him. She was a person. She was his wife. That meant something to him. He had proved that tonight.

“Steris,” he murmured, voice a little strained with controlled need.

She nodded to him, eager, and this time he did not ask her if she was sure.

He sat up, and she followed, and pressed in against him for another kiss, long and deep. He bit gently at her bottom lip as she drew away, pulling it between her teeth, and she groaned. She liked that, and he knew it.

She started to work at his clothes, untying his cravat, undoing the buttons on his waist coat. She had practiced for this, not wanting to be awkward. But of course her fingers fumbled in the moment, feeling thick and clumsy. Wax covered her hands with his own, larger, and rougher, but gentle and sure, and helped her.

Together, they removed his clothes, the last thing separating them. And as he had neatly folded her garments for her, so she tossed his aside for him, a little daring display of eagerness and impulsivity. It made her grin like a fool.

He smiled at her, and stroked back a stray lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear. His hand lingered, cradling her cheek, and he leaned in and kissed her, tenderly, gently, despite the heat of the moment.

"You're exquisite. You know that, don't you?" he breathed, his expression reverent.

Steris gently laid her hands on her husband’s chest, frowning slightly as she categorised each of the scars on him. She had read of all of them, of course. Marasi had gotten her records from the university at her request. Some of them she had even been present for. But seeing them, feeling them-

Wax took her hands, gently, drawing them away from a particularly ragged old wound.

“I didn’t hurt you-” she began, alarmed.

“No,” he reassured her gently, “No, but I don’t want to think about that right now, Steris. I want to think of good things.” He gently kissed her fingers and she smiled hesitantly for him.

Then she trailed her fingers slowly down his chest, dipping lower, and lower, until she brushed the trail of dark hair that disappeared into his trousers. He shivered, his eyes on her fingers.

Steris bit her lip and started pulling at his laces, hands shaking slightly with anticipation. A part of her was eager and a part of her was nervous. But she had an urge to see more of him, and feel more of him.

She eased him out of his trousers and pulled his underwear from him at the same time. No use beating around the bush at this point.

Waxillium groaned softly as her fingers cautiously brushed against him. She had never seen a man unclothed before, and a part of her was deeply curious. Anatomy sketches were all very well but...They didn't quite do him justice.

She wanted to touch him, make him feel what he had made her feel. She wanted to be good to him. A good wife, a good partner.

Steris slid cautiously into his lap and felt his hands settle around her hips, anchoring her. She nestled in close and gently kissed at his neck, trying to mirror what he had done for her before.

He slid his fingers into her hair and carefully guided her up a little higher, tilting his head to the side, eyes closed, and said thickly, “Here.”

She obliged, and she felt him twitch beneath her, sending a spike of pleasure and pride through her.

“Waxillium,” she murmured quietly in his ear, “I want you to feel good, too. Please. Show me what to do. Show me-” She faltered for a moment, blushing deeply, but she leaned in closer to him and managed to whisper, “Show me how to make you climax.”

“ _Steris_ ,” Wax groaned, his head resting on her shoulder, his fingers flexing against her skin.

He arched up and kissed her, fingers sliding deeply into her thick curls, introducing a faint tension to their passion.

Wax pressed his lips to her ear and growled softly, “I want to be inside you.”

She shivered and nodded, “Yes,” she whispered, "Yes, please."

“If I hurt you-” he began, that crease between his brows back as he looked down at her.

She nodded, gently cupping his face in her hand. “I will stop you,” she said, “I promise.”

She would tell him, and he would stop himself for her, of course. But she knew that he wouldn’t hurt her. He had taken his time with her, made her ready for him.

He must know that, of course, with his past experience. But she was coming to understand that he needed her to tell him that she felt safe with him.

He nodded, and she felt him relax as he did so and-

Rusts, _he_ seemed nervous! As though this was his first time, not only hers. And she found herself pulling him in, kissing him, holding him tight and guiding him forwards, letting him know that she was okay.

He slid into her slowly, so slowly, and she closed her eyes, and held him close, a soft, “Oh,” falling from her lips as she felt him fill her at last.

Waxillium groaned, the muscles in his back taut, his body trembling. He pressed his face against her shoulder as he settled himself fully inside her, composing himself. She felt the hot huff of breath against her skin, and threaded her fingers through his hair.

“It’s been a while,” he said, gruff and honest, as he always was, “And you- You feel incredible, Steris.”

“Yes,” she breathed, fingers carding absently through his hair, hands on his back, holding him close.

She hoped that he understood. He felt incredible, too. But speaking in coherent sentences was a little difficult at the moment.

She had never experienced something so strange and unfamiliar as being filled like this, yet at the same time have it be so _right_.

Cautiously, she lifted her hips and rocked against him, sliding him out of her and back in by an inch. She let out a little whimper and repeated the motion.

"Please move, Waxillium," she breathed softly. "I need you to move."

Wax nodded and thrust gently into her. She gasped and let out a soft moan. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Now that he was looking down at her she felt a rising feeling of self-consciousness at the sounds spilling from her lips.

Steris raised a hand to her mouth to muffle her soft cry as Waxillium pressed back into her.

"You don't have to," Wax breathed in her ear, gently sucking it between his teeth as he did so. "I want to hear you. I want to know what you like."

"You, you could just ask me. Far more direct and efficient," she panted, already breathless.

"Yes," he murmured, stroking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Alright then."

He dipped down and kissed her neck, then sucked at a particular spot, directly under her ear, until she trembled.

"Do you like that?" He growled, voice rough and thick with hunger.

She nodded.

Waxillium smiled and thrust into her again, at a different angle than before, and it brushed a spot inside her that made her arch against him, gasping and biting her fist to cover her whimper.

"Did you like that?" He asked, a definite smirk lacing his words now.

She nodded again, eyes squeezed tightly, breath coming in short gasps.

"And this?" He said, his fingers seeking through her folds, circling her in time with his steady thrusts.

She _moaned_ for him. She couldn’t help it. Her hands clutched at his back, carefully manicured nails biting into the weathered skin.

"And you?" She managed to gasp between whimpers. "What do you like, Waxillium?"

"I like it when you moan for me," he growled, his voice low, his eyes gleaming in the darkness, as he made her gasp his name again.

Wax groaned at the sound, rhythm faltering for just a moment.

He cursed hoarsely as she tightened around him, clutching at his back. "I'm close, Steris," he whispered. "You feel so good, I- I don't know how long I can-"

She arched up, cupping his face gently in one hand, and drew him down to kiss her. She broke it with a gasp as he thrust into her again, and she tightened around him.

Pleasure was starting to coil in her belly again. But she didn't feel the same desperation she had before, the same need to chase the release. Now it just felt good, and intimate.

"It's alright," she told him, a soft smile on her face. "You may be selfish sometimes, Waxillium. That is not a crime."

"No," he huffed, brows furrowed, stubborn as a rampaging koloss, "No, I want you to-"

"Waxillium," she interrupted, firm but gentle, the pad of her thumb gently stroking his cheek, “Let go. Be selfish. _Let me see you._ ”

He met her eyes and she could see, beneath the veil of control he kept for her, the true depths of his passion and his hunger.

Waxillium was a fire, and fire was not made to be contained or kept back. It was made to burn.

She arched up and kissed him, deep and passionate, and he groaned and melted into it, and she felt him at last let go of the final restraints on his own composure.

His hips snapped into hers, his movements sharper, and harder than before. She gasped, and he stared down at her, concern tempering him for a moment.

But she kissed him again, drawing away only to whisper, “Don’t stop.”

He growled softly, and resumed his pace. Her lips fell open in wordless pleasure.

What he had done for her before had been nice. It had been soft, gentle, intimate. Everything she might once have wished for from her first night as a married woman.

Waxillium had widened her horizons and realised she was far more than she’d ever assumed. He’d shown her that she not only enjoyed high speed train robberies, shooting bandits and toppling to the river below only to be caught in his arms, enjoyed sneaking guns into parties for him, enjoyed soaring through the mists on wild, adrenaline fuelled leaps, she revelled in them.

He had taught her that she could burn, too. He had taught her that she could catch his fire, and burn with him. He had taught her to embrace that heat he stoked inside her, to seek it, chase it, crave it. And she needed it now.

She looped her arms under his shoulders, clinging to him, her nails biting into his skin as she pulled him flush against her.

Curses were falling from his lips, mingled with gasps of her name, and they only added fuel to the rising inferno she became when she was with him.

Despite her insistence that he be selfish, and enjoy her, and let himself go, he still slipped a hand between her legs, pressing against her, seeing to her pleasure as well. Though there may have been a selfishness in that, given how he reacted every time she moaned or gasped his name.

“Steris,” he choked out at last, his eyes squeezed tight, the muscles in his back taut beneath her clutching fingers. “Steris I can’t, I can’t, I need-”

She whined and just nodded to him, arching up and kissing at his neck, at that spot he had guided her to earlier. On some deep instinct she nipped at the skin there and he gasped then shouted, his body tightening as he reached his own release at last.

Steris hummed softly, nuzzling against his neck where she’d bitten him. He was panting, his body trembling, his face tucked against her neck, fingers working in her thick hair. She felt proud that she had made him come apart like that.

He made to pull out of her and she growled in protest, brows knitting, holding him insistently. Wax started, then he cautiously filled his weight metalmind, making himself far lighter, and remained on top of her.

She smiled and drew him close, making soft pleased sounds against his chest. She had never let anyone else hear those before.

Sometimes, typically when alone, it was the only way she could express the deep feeling of contentment blossoming inside her. But, well, Waxillium was her husband now. He’d best get used to her sounds of contentment.

“Did you-” he began, as soon as he had the presence of mind to speak again.

Steris shook her head, eyes closed, feeling satisfied in spite of that. She had been well taken care of already, and his attentions had left her with a low thrum of pleasure, which was more than enough.

Waxillium, of course, made to reach between her thighs again, to finish her once more, but she just reached out and caught his hand, threading their fingers together instead, eyes still closed.

“Waxillium,” she sighed with exasperated fondness, “At some point you are going to have to acknowledge that you don’t have to take care of everyone and their problems all the time. Brilliant though you are, people can manage perfectly fine without your help.”

“Um...Thank you?” he said, sounding bemused.

Well, good. He could do with being a little bemused every now and then. It was only fitting for him to experience what the rest of the mere mortals around him went through every day.

Steris rolled over onto her side and snuggled against his chest, palm lying flat, settled gently over his heart, feeling its steady, comforting rhythm beneath her touch.

“...Was it alright, though?” he said, after a moment’s silence, seemingly unable to restrain himself. “For your first time, I mean.”

She cracked an eye and peered up at him, amused. “You couldn’t tell?” she teased, lightly, “Lord Waxillium I thought you were the one who had experiences in these matters.”

Survivor! He was _blushing_. Now! After everything they’d just done!

Waxillium Ladrian, hardened Roughs lawman, political powerhouse in Elendel, a man who had killed some truly vile individuals and captured some of the most renowned criminals of modern times, was blushing because she’d made a single implication about his experience in the bedroom.

Well, that was strangely adorable.

Steris took pity on him as he began to flounder, mouthing wordlessly at her. She smiled and kissed his cheek, “Yes, Waxillium, it was wonderful. I could not have asked for a better first experience. Nor for a better man to share it with.”

 _That_ made him blush as well. Rusts. Had that been the wrong thing to say too?

But a moment later he smiled, soft and genuine, and kissed the top of her head, “I’m glad,” he said.

They lay for another moment, until she started to squirm, just a little, at the stickiness between her legs. Wax, sensing that, rose at once and came back with a damp cloth, which he used to gently clean them both up.

As soon as he was done, she all but pounced on him, maneuvering him beneath her then settling on top of him. He drew a blanket up around them and she smiled, warm and content, despite their troubles the past few days.

She let them lie in comfortable silence for some time before she peered up at him and said, “I do have one question about all of this, though.”

“Of course,” Wax said, “Like I said, ask me anything you want to know about all this. Whatever it is we can figure it out together.”

Always so earnest, bless him. It almost made her feel bad for what she was about to do to him.

 _Almost_.

“Well, I was just thinking, while we were on the train headed for New Seran, you did observe that we wouldn’t need to be involved with one another more than, I believe you said, a dozen times in total? And once a child is conceived then not at all.”

Wax groaned loudly, and had the good grace to hang his head in shame.

“Is that still your position on the matter? I rather enjoyed myself tonight, it must be said, but if that’s truly how you feel about this, then-”

“ _Steris_ ,” he all but whined.

Her smile broadened.

“You’ve been spending too much time around Wayne,” he grumbled.

“In this case, I believe it was MeLaan who encouraged my current behaviour,” she informed him, fairly. “She did tell me that it was best to be blunt and firm on matters of importance. That I should not care so much about propriety. Particularly with, and I quote, ‘A man like that rusting Waxillium Ladrian. He’s denser than a pit full of boneless kandra sometimes'."

Wax snorted at that.

"I'm sorry, Steris. I was a fool not to realise what a treasure I had in you from the start."

Rusts. He was just so _genuine_ when he said things like that. Now she was the one blushing while he smiled, half-abashed, half-hopeful.

"Well," she said, flustered now, "I assume you no longer stand by that rather hasty assessment of our intimacy?"

"Absolutely not," he growled, pressing another kiss to her lips. Then he faltered, "Unless-"

"No, Waxillium," she soothed, "I certainly don't want to limit ourselves. Not after that."

"So...Can I be forgiven?" He asked, grinning down at her.

She settled in against him, feeling for a moment like an emperor upon a throne, "You can," she said loftily. "But you may have to earn that forgiveness," she added, but she made it quite clear her words were playful.

"Oh," he said, an eyebrow arching, "And how might I do that for you, my lady?"

She smiled, "I have already started a list for you, Waxillium." She paused, considering, "Though I may have to amend it now as some items should definitely concern us being _involved_ again."

Waxillium smiled broadly at that, leaning down and kissing her deeply again, "I think I should be able to manage that for you."

"Indeed," she said, unable to stifle a yawn. "While I do look forward to that, I think for now we should content ourselves with some sleep."

"Agreed," Wax replied, also yawning.

He kissed the top of her head, the smile evident on his face even as the candles began to flicker out of existence, leaving them in darkness.

"Good night, Lord Ladrian," she murmured.

"Good night, Lady Ladrian," he breathed in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are directly converted to Investiture to encourage more fic creation. 
> 
> I am very willing to write your other favourite cosmere characters boning/interacting in non-NSFW ways. Consider a request: https://shadowhand-essek.tumblr.com/post/627182711198679040/taryns-writing-commissions


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